


Light as a Feather

by deathbycoldopen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, M/M, Self-Harm, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:54:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathbycoldopen/pseuds/deathbycoldopen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no humans around to see it, but it's good that his wings are invisible.  It means that no one can see how tattered they've become, how many feathers he's yanked out.  No one can see them twitch in pain even when he's standing still.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light as a Feather

**Author's Note:**

> Set during season 8, with flashbacks to 5x03.

Castiel pulls at the feather determinedly.  Pain shoots up the length of his wing, causing it to thrash, still invisible to the human eye.  There are no humans around to see it, but it's good that his wings are invisible.  It means that no one can see how tattered they've become, how many feathers he's yanked out.  No one can see them twitch in pain even when he's standing still.

 

This is part of his penance; nobody else needs to know.  Especially not Dean.  He knows what Dean would say if he found out, can imagine the anger that would cloud his face.  Anger, or worse, disappointment.  Castiel had told him that his penance is going well, but he is sure that Dean would be disappointed if he discovered that his penance included making his wings look as wretched as he felt.  He wouldn't understand that a constant pain in his wings is a hundred times better than the pain that lingers in the corners of his mind.

 

The feather pulls free.  A dribble of blood mixed with grace drips down to the ground.  A flower might grow there, where his blood full of grace landed.  This pain must be a good pain, because it makes flowers grow.

 

He could make a whole field of flowers if he wanted to.

 

He turns the feather over in his hands, wiping the blood off carefully.  He can't let Dean see the blood.  Can't let Dean see the pain.  Just like the first time he'd done this, except now more than ever he couldn't face disappointment on Dean's face.

 

_"So you do have wings?  They're real?"  Dean slid a bottle of beer across the table to him.  Castiel took it, but didn't drink.  He didn't much care for the taste, as he'd discovered earlier that night in the brothel.  The alcohol barely affected him anyway, so there wasn't much point.  It felt good between his hands, though, in a way that he couldn't define.  He suspected it had less to do with the pleasant smoothness of the glass and more to do with the fact that Dean had given it to him._

 

_"Real," he repeated, not sure what Dean was asking.  Of course his wings were real- he'd even shown Dean their shadows that night in the barn, over a year ago now.  Human memory couldn't be that faulty, could it?_

 

_Dean waved a hand.  "You know what I mean," he said.  Castiel waited- he really didn't know- and Dean sighed.  "Do they have- I don't know, feathers?  A color?  Shadows on a wall aren't very much to go on."_

 

_It was such a strange subject for him to latch on to.  Maybe the prospect of trapping an archangel the next day had spiked Dean's interest in the mechanics of fitting an entire angel inside a small human vessel.  Or maybe a different archangel was on Dean's mind._

 

_"My wings have... I suppose they would manifest as black feathers," Castiel said, pushing aside the thought of Michael using Dean's body to destroy the world.  It was too painful a notion to consider, enough that Castiel didn't even wonder why it was so painful._

 

_Dean raised his eyebrows, smiling a little.  "Well?" he asked after a moment.  "Can I see them?"_

 

_"No," Castiel said.  Dean frowned, giving him another one of those looks.  Castiel was almost sure it was the look he used when he wanted Castiel to elaborate on something.  "Not if you want to keep your eyes," Castiel added eventually._

 

_Understanding flitted across Dean's face, as well as- was that disappointment?_

 

_Something inside Castiel constricted painfully.  There was so little in Dean's life that was good, so little he could smile about, especially now that he and Sam had gone their separate ways.  Seeing his wings was hardly something to be excited over, but he couldn't bear to see Dean disappointed again and again, even over something so trivial._

 

_"Wait," he said, and folded an invisible wing forward.  He searched for the loosest feather he could find, one that would fall off into nothingness soon anyway.  Closing his eyes, he pulled it out, and didn't let the flash of pain cross his face._

 

_Separated from his grace, the feather manifested.  Not quite a perfect representation of what his wings looked like: this feather was a little straggly, lacking the gloss that shimmered over Castiel's healthier feathers.  It probably would have disintegrated soon if Castiel hadn't pulled it off._

 

_"Here," he said.  He handed the feather over, hoping Dean wouldn't notice the blood dotting the base._

 

_"Wow," Dean said, running his fingers along the ugly thing.  "That's... kinda cool, actually."_

 

_Watching Dean smile at his feather, the most curious sense of peace drifted over Castiel.  He wondered idly how it could be that he'd lost everything he once had, yet he'd never felt happier._

 

Castiel lets the memory pass with a pang.  He strokes the feather he's just pulled out the way he'd seen Dean stroke the other feather, a lifetime ago.  A trembling smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.  He know what he has to do.

 

He leaves the feather on the table next to where Dean is sleeping.  The next one he pulls out, he places on the driver's seat of the Impala.  The next, he puts inside Dean's bag with all his possessions.  Every time he works a feather free in a wave of well-deserved pain, he puts it somewhere Dean will find it.  He doesn't stay long enough to see what Dean does with the feathers, nor does he mention them the next time he sees Dean face to face.  But the feathers are always gone when he comes back to leave another.

 

He doesn't feel the same overwhelming peace he'd felt before, but it's enough.  This is all he can do for the Winchesters now.  It's the only thing he has left to give.

 

He pulls out another feather, and the splash of grace-filled blood marks where another flower will grow.


End file.
